


In Chains

by KatDancer



Series: Heart of Stone Universe (Risa Aeducan's Tale) [4]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:00:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatDancer/pseuds/KatDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Risa Aeducan comes to Kirkwall to find a former warden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Making an Entrance

**Author's Note:**

> Bioware, as always, owns the characters and settting.
> 
> Comments welcome.

Lady Risa Aeducan, Commander of the Grey, living Paragon of House Warden of Orzammar, Hero of Ferelden.    Garreth Hawke looked at the woman standing before him and the first thought that came to mind was _Maker’s Breath, a legendary reputation for such a tiny woman!_   Lady Aeducan stood perhaps four feet tall, and yet she did not look like what he thought of as the “typical” dwarf.  Most of the dwarves he knew were stocky, resembling a tree stump and tough as nails.  Lady Aeducan was… well, petite.  She seemed rather to tend more to a scaled down version of a human with slightly longer arms and the shorter, stocky legs that gave dwarves their rolling gait, and her features were fine.  Somehow she had missed out on the large nose most of her peers seemed to have.  She almost looked as if she could blow away in the wind.

And then she _moved_.

Hawke saw the woman leap, and as his eyes followed he saw her rolling away from a dead Carta thug in the street, shaking a ribbon of blood from one of her blades as she slid under the guard of another, striking upwards into the throat.  Hawke flung himself after her, seeing and feeling Merill's magic whizzing past, and hearing Bianca clattering as the crossbow hurled deadly bolts.

Lady Aeducan wove a deadly dance through the battlefield, and Hawke found himself at her right, smashing elven mercenary archers aside with his greatsword.  The scuffle had taken perhaps three minutes and there was a sudden silence as they found themselves suddenly without any more opponents.   Lady Aeducan took a moment to wipe her blades on a cloth, then sheathed them… then reached down and gave a hand up to a stunned looking dwarf at her feet.

“You’ve the look of a Harrowmont,” she said, and even her voice was rich, sultry – like melted dark chocolate.

“Indeed I am, my lady,” the man said, brushing himself off, “Arnaud Harromont is my name, and I can never repay you for your assistance!”

She gave him a measuring look, and said, “And why would you be in Kirkwall, of all places?  Are you so eager to lose your stone sense, and your caste?”

“No, my lady,” he replied quickly.  “I am sent as a diplomatic envoy to the Viscount… and his Majesty, King Harrowmont, sends his _particular_ regards to you.”

“I imagine he would,” she said, looking amused.  “Those men….”

“Hired, I am afraid, by those who were loyal to your brother,” he said nervously.

“Ah.”  A considering look in her onyx eyes.  “It may be that a visit to Orzammar might be… necessary, in the near future.”  She slapped him on the shoulder companionably.  “Well, Harrowmont, you’ll not find the Viscount drabbing or slumming here on the docks…”  She winked at Hawke as she put her hand onto the dwarf’s shoulder.  “Would you do me the honor of escorting me to the Viscount’s Keep, then?  There’s a tailor at the foot of the Keep that has the most exquisite silk I’ve ever seen.”

“It would be my great pleasure, Lady Aeducan, and a great honor,” he said, bowing and taking her arm.  They both knew it would be _she_ that escorted _him_ , but propriety and honor had been saved.

* * *

 

 

Two hours later, Hawke sat in Varric’s rooms with Merrill, Isabella, Fenris, and Aveline.  Anders had not yet shown.   Hawke could see why men and women both had followed the dwarven hero – she was charismatic and warm.  There had been a moment when meeting Isabella where the dwarf had been a little guarded, and if the delicate pink her ears had turned were any indication, Isabella’s  claims that she knew the Grey Warden _rather well_ were probably true.

“And how IS our innocent little templar,” Isabella asked.

A shutter dropped over Risa’s eyes, and she didn’t answer immediately.  When she did, it was a careful, “When last I saw him in Denerim, he seemed well enough.”  She studied the inside of her mug, and raised it, smiling.  “Varrick, my mug is faulty – _there’s no ale in it_!”  Hawke noticed that the smile did not reach her eyes.

Varrick, for once, did not seem eager to pursue this story.  “Let me remedy that,” he said, pouring.

Isabella, for a wonder, shut her mouth, her dusky skin darkening further.  She looked as if she wished the ground would open up and swallow her.  “I didn’t think, I’m…”

“Forget it,” Risa advised, taking a deep drink, and looking into the bottom of her mug again.

“Maker’s breath, Varrick, I hope you all haven’t finished off the pitcher yet….” Anders called with a laugh as he passed the doorframe., and suddenly stopped stock still.

Risa looked up at him, her eyes going from shock, to joy, to hurt and then wariness, then back to neutrality.  Her ears again went pink.  “Anders,” she said, and if nothing else, her voice was filled with genuine pleasure.

“Ree… Commander!”  He looked as if he might bolt.  “Are you here to drag me back to Vigil’s Keep?  Because I won’t…”

She waved him to a chair, “Do shut up and have a drink,” she said.  Then, softly, her eyes anywhere but on him, “As it happens, I’m glad I caught up to you.  We need to talk.”

Ander’s eyes flashed irritation.  “I’m not…”

“Oh, DO shut up,” Risa said, digging through her pack in a fury, her lips compressed into a white line.  She found whatever she was looking for, stomped up to him, and slammed it into his stomach, turning away.  “So nice to see you too, Anders, I’m well enough, thanks for asking!”

Risa stormed out the door.

“Smooth,” Hawke said, looking at the stunned mage. 

Anders looked at the package in his hands, and unwrapped the thick padding.  When he saw its contents he flushed red, and swearing, went after her, whatever it was clutched in his hand.

* * *

 

 

“Commander…. Risa… _wait_!”

The dwarf wasn’t running, but Maker’s breath, she had a ground devouring stride, and Anders watched as she cut through the Lowtown crowds like a force of nature, people simply stepping out of her way, parting for her.  A couple of thugs considered her fancy clothes as she passed, then slumped back against the crates they were standing by, sensing that she was not prey.

“Risa!”  Anders fell in beside her, “Risa, please…”

“You know what, _shards take you!_ ”  she spat, wheeling on him with blood in her eye.  “I don’t know why I ever came to this blighted place.”  Her voice lashed at him as sharp and painful as a whip.  “There!  You have what you wanted, you need never worry about seeing me again!”

“Risa, I’m sor—“

She punched him in the stomach. 

Anders felt the air whoosh out of his lungs and staggered, trying to catch his breath, as she railed at him. 

“A SHIP, Anders.  I had to get on a SHIP to come see you… dwarva and ships do NOT mix!”  She paced back and forth like a caged tiger for a minute or two, then suddenly she stopped, pressing her hands over her face.

She closed her eyes, shivered, and then said softly, “No… sorry.  It’s not _you_ , it’s _me_.”  She turned.  “Isabella… she asked about… Alistair.”

 _Well_ , Anders thought, _that would do it_.  “Risa…”

She shook her head grimly.  “Done.  Bridged.  Water under.”

Anders looked at her, then stepped closer, awkwardly putting an arm around her.  “I can never thank you enough for this, Risa.”  He hefted the package, looked at it.  “How did you get it?”

“You nug’s arse, you were at the Keep three years.  Did you completely _miss_ the part about me being a rogue?” she snorted, shoving him.  “I broke in to the Chantry and got it.  I might have knocked a shelf or two of them over accidentally, too.  Then stepped on the ones that didn’t break… er, _accidentally_.”

Anders stooped down and kissed her with a grin.  “Accidentally, _of course_.”

Risa half grinned back, then looked at him seriously. 

Anders didn’t like that look, and so asked quickly, “So, er, how’s Loghain?”

“Exiled to Montsimmard at the First Bastard’s orders,” she said sharply.  She pulled away, looked out over the water.

Anders winced.  Loghain Mac Tir could be a right bastard, but he was Risa’s husband, her right hand and probably her best friend.  And now he’d been taken from her as well.  And when she came to Kirkwall looking up another of her comrades, a certain rebel mage, he’d given her shit and she’d given him…

His phylactery.

“So,” she said quietly, so quietly he had to strain to hear her,  “How’s Justice treating you?”


	2. Secrets

Anders' mouth suddenly went dry, and he said, "I, um..."

Risa looked up at him.  _Maker, the look in her eyes,_ he thought.

"Please, Anders... we've known each other too long and too well to start lying now."  She looked far older than she ought, and she walked over to a crate, leaning heavily on it with both hands.  She hunched over, her hair veiling her face.

He shifted on the balls of his feet, itching to run.  He knew exactly what she was capable of -- if they chose to throw down in the street it was even odds on who'd come out on top.  But the way she was standing, her back to him, vulnerable... she didn’t intend to attack.

“If we’re going to have a ‘talk’”, he said, “I’d prefer it someplace more discreet.”

She nodded.  “Done.”  She pushed herself upright, and with the ghost of a smile, asked, “Your place, or mine?”

Anders thought of the clinic.  There was no privacy, and if he entered, he would have patients knocking at the door immediately.  He also didn’t like the idea of Risa seeing how he lived now.  “Yours,” he said quietly.

“Come on, then.” 

He studied her as they walked.  There were a few more lines in her face than when he’d last seen her – crows feet around her eyes, mostly – but she seemed so much older than she looked.  He wondered if the taint were racing through her faster than it would for a human – she’d only become the Hero six years earlier.   When he’d been at Vigil’s Keep, her step had been light and even in the worst of situations – and fighting the Architect and the Broodmother, the situation could not have been worse – she’s managed a cocky grin once in a while.  Now she looked… sad.  Grim.

But then, she’d seemed happy enough at the Hanged Man when he walked in… or was she going through the motions?

He noticed that her rolling gait was taking them up into Hightown, and that she unlocked a door a few blocks from Hawke’s estate.  His eyes widened as he realized that this house bore the arms of Ferelden.

“Uh…”

“The least he can do after I put him on the throne,” Risa said curtly, leading him into a sitting room.  She poked at the fire a bit, bringing it back from its steady embers to a merry crackle, and poured both of them a stiff drink of brandy.  “Sit.”

Anders bristled slightly.  “I’m not going to be ordered about….”

“Ancestors, Anders, just sit the hell down.”  She rubbed her eyes, looking exhausted.  “You’re too damned tall for me to be craning my neck at.”

He dropped into a chair, and she did as well, taking a hard gulp of her brandy.

That in itself worried him.  She’d never been one to drink hard, and had ridden Oghren about his habits as being self-destructive.  “So…” he started carefully.  “You came all this way to give me my phylactery?”

“In part.”  She shrugged.  “I know it could have met its unfortunate end back in Ferelden, but I wanted you to know it was gone.  Hell, let you destroy it yourself.”  She looked at him and shrugged one shoulder.  “After all, we’d already slaughtered that Rylock bitch and her two assholes… why not finish the job?”

As a dwarf, she was less susceptible to the effects of magic, so really hadn’t much to fear from direct attack.  Rylock had played a very dangerous game, expecting that Risa would be impressed with Templars and Chantry. 

She wasn’t.  Dwarves worshiped their own ancestors and had no interest in the Chantry at all.  To her, it was not the holy arm of the Maker himself who tried to eliminate a dangerous apostate threatening Fereldenn – it was a bunch of bullies in massive armor trying to murder her snarky but gentle healer.  When reason had failed, she’d gutted them like fish and left the templars  dead in the abandoned warehouse that they’d planned to make the Warden’s grave.

“I imagine you’re breaking hearts all through the Free Marches,” she said, attempting a smile.

“No,” he said quietly.  “I… I don’t have time for that anymore.”

She looked pained, and setting her glass down, walked over and took his hand.  She looked so… sad.  Old. 

Heartbroken.

“I’m so sorry, Anders,” she said softly, and he was surprised to see her eyes filling.  “My fault…”

“What?  Risa…”

She pulled away, dashing the tears from her eyes angrily.  “I should never have been talked into accepting Rolan, never.  Or allowed him to dog your steps to keep the Chantry off our backs – and, I thought, the Templars from trying to drag you back to the Circle. 

“I fucked that one up badly, and I finished the fuckup allowing myself to be called to Weisshaupt…”

He leaned forward, gripped her hand.  “Risa, don’t torture yourself over this.”

“You should have told me what you planned,” she said quietly.

“You’d have stopped me.”

“Maybe.  But I’d have been there to prevent them trying to betray you.”  She gave a humorless little chuckle.  “Oh, did I clean house when I got back…”  Her eyes hardened.  “I never did like Templars much.”

His eyes widened.  “You…”

“Killed them.  They were not loyal to the Wardens, and their actions cost me the best healer in Ferelden and the deaths of several of my Wardens.”

Anders shook his head.  “I…”

“…you were fighting for your life,” she said quietly, bitterly.  “And that is squarely MY responsibility.”  She looked him in the eyes, and he saw only concern there.  “You never answered the question.  How’s Justice treating you?”

“Risa, Justice is dead… I know you saw the body…”

“Kristoff’s corpse had had it.  You know that, and I know that.”  She looked at him sharply.  “I saw that clearing in the woods, Anders.  No WAY did you do that.   Not on your own.” 

He fidgeted, and she could read the reluctance – the fear – to admit what she was asking was true.

She leaned forward, grabbed his jacket with both hands, and before he could protest, kissed him.

 

 


	3. Four Play

The first thought that managed to make itself coherent in Ander’s head was that of all things, he never imagined that Risa Aeducan, no-nonsense and business-like as she’d been at Vigil’s Keep, would be as _good_ at kissing as she was.  She had steadfastly shut down every attempt he’d made in Amaranthine to crack that armor of professionalism and not-going-to-fraternize.  Now, though, she was all warm and soft, her lips insistent as she pressed them against his, her tongue brushing his lower lip… and the soft sounds she was making in the back of her throat…

After the initial shock of it, he’d found his arms stealing around her and he began to kiss her back, hard.

**_SHE BETRAYED US!  SHE SET THE TEMPLARS ON US!  SHE WILL SEEK TO STOP US FROM BRINGING JUSTICE FOR THE MAGES!_ **

Anders flinched, yanking back from Risa, and clutched his head.  “No… no… she means us no harm!”

Risa, for her part, stood calmly though breathing hard, laying her hand on Anders’ arm, looking at him with concern.  She noticed black wisps seeming to emanate from Ander’s coat, and then – his eyes glowed an electric blue-white.  He glared at her, his skin seeming to crack, the blue-white light showing through. 

“Justice, I presume,” she said quietly.

 ** _“YOU ABANDONED US TO THE TEMPLARS!_** “

“I know it doesn’t change anything, but _I did not know_ what you and Anders planned – _or_ what the templars planned.”  She looked steadily into the glowing eyes.  “Justice… we were comrades once.  Do you believe I would have set out to harm either of you?  Was I _ever_ unjust in my decisions?”

The spirit wearing Anders’ body paused, mulling it over.  “ ** _YOU WERE NOT._** ”

“Do you believe me when I tell you that I mean you no harm… that I regret having set into motion the events that caused you and Anders to run?”

The answer was long in coming, and rather sullen, she thought.  “ ** _WE BELIEVE YOU_**.”

She reached up, caressed Anders’ cheek gently.  “Let me help you,” she said softly.  “Let me make amends.”

The blue-white glow fled from his skin and eyes, and Anders was left, looking around wildly.  “Risa?  What happened?  Are you all right?”

Risa nodded, then stepped forward and hugged Anders.  “It’s going to be all right,” she said softly.  “It’ll be ok.”

* * *

 

 

“So, Varric: Hero of Ferelden,” Isabella purred, sprawled in one of the chairs in Varric’s rooms upstairs.  One leg dangled over the arm of the stone chair; with the other, the foot was flat on the floor, as if she were sitting properly in the chair.  Had the table not been in the way, Varric would have been able to tell what color underwear – if any – the pirate was wearing.

The dwarven storyteller smiled.  “I have to say, Rivaini, she’s something else.”

“Oh _yes_ , she _is_.”  Isabella grinned. 

“Came to a meeting of the minds, did you?” he asked.

“It wasn’t _minds_ that met.”  Isabella sighed happily.  “I don’t think any of us will forget that particular afternoon.”  She grinned salaciously.  “I wonder if I should visit Ferelden, see if the king’s still up for a week of Isabella every summer.”

Varric shook his head with a laugh.  “You… and the king of Ferelden….”

“No.  Me, the _King_ of Ferelden, the _Hero_ of Ferelden, _and_ an Antivan Crow.”  She licked a finger, and touched her bare hip, making a sizzling sound.  “So hot.”

“Maker’s breath, Rivaini, I don’t think I’m _ever_ going to get that mental image out of my head!”

Isabella eyed Varric speculatively.  “You know, I’ve always wondered if it was just her….”  She leaned forward, showing a good deal of cleavage.  “Or if all dwarfs are just as deliciously… enthusiastic about sex.”

“Sorry, Rivaini,” Varric said, with a polite bow of his head.  “My heart belongs to Bianca.”

“It’s not your _heart_ I’m interested in,” Isabella pouted.


	4. Set into Motion

Risa  Aeducan sat cross-legged in front of the fire, staring into the flames.  Upstairs, asleep in the guest bedroom, Anders was sleeping off the stress and strain of Justice having reared his furious and aggressive head.

She had a plan.  And she was going to need help – _magical_ help – and that was going to be pretty hard to come by here in Kirkwall.

 _“_ Wynne… Velanna…  Dennys, Adalla, Dugg… she could certainly call upon her Warden Mages.  Each of them owed her a huge favor for recruiting or in some cases conscripting them, and she aimed to collect.  She was going to have to get some of Anders’ current friends in on this too, though.

She rubbed her eyes with exhaustion.   The First Bastard, as she called him, probably wouldn’t approve.  _Fuck him. Let him fire me._ There were many questionable things she had done in her life – but _never_ had she abandoned a friend or comrade, and _never_ had she shirked her responsibilities.

* * *

 

 “Why does everyone say that the Warden is _larger than life_?  She’s smaller than I am, even, and I’m not particularly big.”  Merrill looked confused as they walked through Lowtown on the way out to the Wounded Coast.

“Kitten, they mean that she is bold and adventurous and people look up to her.  She has a big reputation.”  Isabella explained.

“But how can they look _up_ …. Oh.”

“Why do they call her THE Warden,” Fenris asked.  “There _are_ more than one.”

“Only two at the final fight with the archdemon, and _she’s_ the one who killed it,” Varric said.  “No one’s sure how she managed to do that and live – she’s the only Warden who ever did.  And, she was the leader of the Blight Companions.  And, of course, there’s the tragic love affair….”

Merrill bit her lip.  “Oh… did he die?  Or was it a she?”

Isabella looked uncharacteristically sober.  “He’s the king of Ferelden, Kitten.”

Merrill brightened.  “Oh, but he seems such a nice man… and he’s not dead yet, is he?  What’s tragic about that?”

“He’s a human,” Fenris growled.

Merill frowned in concentration, her nose wrinkling in that appealing way it did when she was confused.  “But we know nice humans, Fenris – there was Leandra, and there’s Hawke, of course, and Bethany, and Aveline, and Donnic, and Sebastian, and An— ok, perhaps that isn’t such a good example for you.”

“Daisy, what Fenris means is that the nobles of Ferelden wouldn’t let him marry the Warden because she’s a dwarf.”  Varric’s voice was laden with disgust.  “Mind you, she’s a princess in her own right and a Paragon… and their own hero… but such things don’t matter when you’re talking about the lines of succession.”

“Oh but surely that can’t… but… but he’s _king_!  Can’t he do what he wants?”

Fenris snorted.  “What makes you think he _wants_ to?”

Isabella shook her head.  “I know the difference between lust and love.  It wasn’t lust.”  Her eyes twinkled.  “Now… them and Zev and I… THAT was pure lust.”  She smiled knowingly, her eyes a little unfocused as she savored the memory of the four of them tangled in the sheets of her cabin, and how the rock and sway of the ship added to the rock and sway of the bed.

“How does that even w—oh.  _Oh._ ”  Merrill took one look at Isabella’s expression and went beet red.    “I’ll shut up now.”

“I don’t know that she’d appreciate your advertising your assignation to the whole world.” Aveline said stiffly, “and surely the king wouldn’t be glad to hear you being so indiscreet about his… indiscretion.”

“Well, he wasn’t king then.” Isabella gloated.  “Just a delicious hunk of man muscle.”  Her smirk said all there needed to be said about the topic.

 

 

 


	5. Fade to Black

Garreth Hawke was just coming down the stairs when he heard Bodahn exclaim with joy, "By the Ancestors, it's the Warden!"  
  
Sandal tore into the front vestibule, clapping happily. "ENCHANTMENT!"  
  
Hawke heard a throaty chuckle, and as he reached the foot of the staircase saw Risa Aeducan grinning and ruffling Sandal's hair as he hugged her. "Easy there, Sandal," she grinned, "I need those ribs!"  
  
"Warden-Commander." Hawke said, leaning against the mantelpiece with a smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"  
  
Risa came in, her smile wavering slightly. "Well, and people saw we dwarves get right down to business!" She came in, Sandal trailing her with a grin, and stopped when she came face to face with Hawke's mabari.  
  
"He's ok…" Hawke began, but Risa walked right up to the dog and looked him in the eye – briefly. He could see she had some experience with the breed.  
  
"Well now, handsome," she said softly, letting the dog sniff her over. "It's been quite a while since I've seen another mabari. What's your name?"  
  
The dog wagged his tail and licked her – an embarrassingly familiar act.  
  
"His name's Gryphon," Hawke supplied.  
  
"Noble name for a noble beast," she said, and slowly extended a hand, letting Gryphon sniff it, Then she began fondling him in JUST that right spot behind the ears.  
  
As the dog hummed and leaned against her with pleasure, Hawke said, "You have one too?"  
  
"Had," she said, and he could see the grief in her eyes. "He died defending Vigil's Keep. He was…. He was a Good Dog."  
  
There wasn't much to say after that, until Bodahn came back in and announced that tea had been laid in the library. Risa was pleased to see that one of the chairs there was sized comfortably for a dwarf.  
  
As she and Hawke had their tea, they chatted about Ferelden, about the Blight, about the war. She talked about Orzammar some, and how Bodahn and Sandal had actually been with her during the Blight Wars – supplying her and her companions, working enchantments for them. When she heard Sandal and Gryphon playing in the next room, her expression turned wistful and she said softly, "It's almost as if Dog were still alive… he liked playing with Sandal too." Her expression turned fiercely proud. "And when our camp was attacked by darkspawn, he put himself between Sandal and a Shriek Alpha… I'm honestly not sure which of them was more dangerous to the beast." She shook her head. "Best mind what you give him though – he's a pure genius at explosives."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind," Hawke said.

* * *

  
  
They had been relaxing with each other for some time when Risa suddenly said, "So… how well do you know Anders?"  
  
"Well enough," Hawke said carefully.  
  
Risa sighed. "Hawke, please, listen. The Anders you know is nearly nothing like the Anders I knew." She looked into the flames in the fireplace, the shadows playing over her face, making her look old, worn out.  
  
"How is he different?"  
  
Risa smiled. "He was an arrogant, snarky son of a bitch who bedded every girl he could charm there.  His three great goals in life were to have 'a decent meal, a pretty girl, and the right to shoot lightning at fools.' He was the most carefree person I ever knew, and he…" She chuckled at the stunned look on Hawke's face, then sighed. "He was part of the reason… maybe even the _biggest_ part of the reason… I decided to live after the Archdemon was destroyed."  
  
Hawke looked at her carefully.  
  
She shrugged. "I'd lost everything, really, just before that battle. It didn't seem… worth going on."  
  
"Wait, so Anders cheered you up? _Anders_?"  
  
She nodded. "He wasn't as you see him now. Driven. Oh, the hatred of Templars – that was there. He had reason – valid reasons." Her eyes darkened. "I hate them too, by the way."  
  
Hawke raised an eyebrow.  
  
" _With. Extreme. Prejudice_ ," she said, enunciating very clearly. "Fucking Chantry's no friend of _mine_."  
  
"So I'm thinking you'd not be wanting to spend much time socializing with Brother Sebastian," Hawke said wryly.  
  
"One breath about the will of the Maker, Andraste's sacrifice, or some shit about magic serving man, and I'd want to punch him."  
  
Hawke nodded. "I'm thinking that's a _no_ , then."

* * *

  
  
"So you mean…." Risa trailed off, looking at Hawke, her onyx eyes sharp and considering. "You. A non-mage – a PACK of non-mages, actually – you have already been in the Fade?"  
  
Hawke nodded. "Keeper Marathari sent us there to help a young mage."  
  
"Shards and stone," she said, whistling. "Hawke… would it be possible…. Could she do it again, you think? This time let us go in after him?"  
  
"Warden," he said, "I don't know… Especially with what you're planning… if there was even a whiff of the idea of us going to the Fade, he'd know."  
  
Risa looked pained. "Then I'll have to do it as I originally planned. I have to be honest with you," she said. "I'm scared for him… and _of_ him. You have no basis for comparison but… he's miserable, compared to the man I knew. Oh, there are times when his true nature shines through… but I think he's losing hold of who he is…."  
  
Hawke nodded slowly. "I think you're right," he said quietly.  
  
Risa leaned over, resting her small, calloused hand on top of Hawke's much larger calloused hand. "Then help me," she said quietly, looking deeply into Hawke's bright blue eyes.


End file.
